A Second Chance
by 4amsecrets
Summary: There were many theories on what would happen if and when, the Black Widow and the famous Hawkeye ever met. Nuclear war, city blocks bathed in blood, buildings falling in a fiery inferno. But no one was prepared for the reality. My version of how the Hawk met the Spider, and the events that followed.
1. Chapter 1

Hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything…yet. Heh heh heh.

A silent, deadly looking plane carrying a more silent and even more deadly female assassin inside touched down in a field just outside the city limits of a small town in Spain. A lithe figure slipped from the plane, shrouded in darkness. She turned, nodded in the general direction of the plane, and continued on her way, a small, black backpack slung over her shoulder. She found herself outside a seedy looking motel, and grimaced. But compared to some of the places she had slept, this wasn't too bad. She strolled into the empty lobby, and seeing no one, she took the liberty of taking one of the room keys behind the desk. It took some effort to wiggle the key into the lock, and the doorknob was slightly sticky as she pushed the door open. With a practiced eye, she glanced over the room and found it was surprisingly clean. She tossed the bag onto the bed and locked the door.

The quiet Spanish murmurings that came from the opposite walls almost lulled her to sleep. She shook her head, trying to shake herself out of her jet-lagged state. The bathroom was small and the shower was emitting a faint musty smell. She stripped out of her black attire and turned on the shower. After a few minutes of hopping from foot to foot as the temperatures went from cold, to colder, to scalding hot, she gave up and returned the other room, slightly more awake than she had been before. She pulled on a silk cobalt colored top and pulled on a pair of black high-waisted shorts. She slid her gun into its holster, which was kept covered by the breezy top. Lastly, she reached into the small side pocket in the bag and retrieved a grainy image. It showed a man holding a bow, an arrow pointing directly at the camera that had taken the picture. "So this is the fabled Hawkeye," she cooed softly, a lilting Russian accent gracing her lips. She ran her fingers along the edge of the photo, almost dreading having to take down such a formidable foe. She sighed, tucked the picture away, pulled on a pair a short, black boots, and slipped into the shadows once more.

The night air of southern Spain was hot and sticky. The slight breeze offered little compensation for the unbearably hot night. In a some-what questionable night club, the same Russian spy sat idly in a secluded corner, eyeing the hundred-some people milling about the place. She stood, and joined the people who were mingling at the bar. People stopped and stared, but this was nothing new to her. Their wide eyes and open mouths begged for her attention. She waved away anyone who approached her; she was hunting bigger game tonight. She sat herself down at the bar and ordered a single shot of vodka. She turned to the man sitting next to her. She put on her best American accent, and said to one of her most hated foes, "Funny that you're the only one here that _didn't _ask me to dance, when you're probably the only one who I would've said yes to." He half-smiled at her, and said with a small laugh, "Couldn't dance to save my life, wouldn't want to humiliate myself." She laughed and crinkled her nose. _Damn those American girls and their idiotic laughs. _"Well, I have other business I have to get to, but, ah, if you ever feel like tracking me down… here." She handed him a small piece of paper to him, smiled, then left. A puzzled, then angered, look crossed his face. He faced his partner that sat slouched next to him. "Maria? We've got a problem.

_Let's dance bird-boy. –The Black Widow _

Natalia Romanova hated many things in life, but alleyways had to be in the top five. So of course, because of her hatred of them, she usually found herself trapped in one. So when she stepped outside the side door of the club and found herself in an alley, she let out an almost inaudible sigh, and started to make her way through the rat infested passage. She sensed their movement sooner than they had probably hoped. Her heart sped up, though she appeared to remain calm. The adrenalin that kept her alive in so many other situations began to pump ion her veins. She turned abruptly and faced two missing KGB Agents that had disappeared shortly before she had left for her mission. "Dolohov, Kovo, what brings you here, I thought you were still supposed to be pretending to be missing?" She said innocently. "The Black Widow program was terminated after they failed to reproduce the serum you were given. So we were sent to terminate _you_" snarled Dolohov. With that she assumed a defensive position, rolled out of the way as a bullet whizzed past her left ear. She gazed into Kovo's eyes, using her best "I'm-just-a-scared-little-girl-please-help-me" look. She stood as if in a trance, now having the attention of Dolohov. She traced one finger on a scar on Kovo's cheek. She looked back at Dolohov, who seemed puzzled at the sudden turn of events. That was when she took her knee and rammed it into Kovo's stomach. As he doubled over, she gripped Dolohov's arm, flipped herself over it, and sent herself flying into his chest. She leapt up, pulled her gun, but fell back as Kovo's fist came hurtling through the air. These men were massive, born in northern Russia, and bred to be mindless brutes for the KGB. And there were two of them. And they were in alley. The universe was just not in her favor this evening. But when had it ever been in her favor? She ducked another punch, and twisted up behind Dolohov. She pressed down on a nerve near the base near his neck. This would normally kill most people in seconds, but it was just merely uncomfortable for him. She aimed a kick at his head, and he crashed into Kovo, who shoved him away. He reached with a trash can sized hand and reached around her neck. She jerked her leg back into his stomach and was about to send a bullet flying into his thick skull when she saw a grenade fall in front of her. _So he had found her. _She sprang away, and her two assailants were blasted into the back of the alley. She leaned against the alley wall, and tried to see where her new attacker might be coming from. She shook her head vigorously to rid her head of the ringing that threatened to overtake her, before she could move out into the open, a slivery arrow pierced her shoulder, and pinned her to moist bricks behind her. She narrowed her eyes and focused on her attacker instead of the pain shooting through her shoulder. He dropped from above, and she met his icy blue stare, already calculating how well she could fight pinned to a wall. "You don't know what you've gotten yourself into." She spoke with her rolling Russian accent, not bothering to hide it any more. "I don't? I'm pretty sure there's just a little girl who is in way over her head." At that moment, she delicately plucked the arrow from her shoulder and plunged in into its owner. "Duck" was all she had time to say before dropping to the ground, away from Dolohov's colossal fist now occupying the space she and Barton had been seconds before. She rolled up, and pulled her gun again. She sent one bullet into Dolohov's head. He dropped to the ground. A second bullet was sent into Kovo's jugular vein, and he joined his friend on the cold cobblestone ground. The great Black Widow slumped against the wall that was already stained with her own blood. She knew what was coming, a violent, bloody death. Those agents, from that…what organization were they from? Did it matter? All she knew is that ever since then, she had been running from them. How long had it been? A few weeks at least. He loomed above her, and he caught her gaze. He pulled back. Her eyes looked younger than the rest of her did…much younger. They looked hunted, she was tired. They reminded him of how he looked…before someone had intervened and offered him a better alternative. He put his arrow back in its quiver, and slung his bow back on his shoulder. "Hey Maria, how pissed do you think Fury would be if I brought her in?" He rolled his eyes as Maria started to chew him out. He cut her short with a "We'll be there in five. Have a medic waiting." He held out his hand. She glared at it and pushed herself up. She pressed her hand onto her shoulder, attempting to stem the blood. "Why?" She still seemed wary of him as they made their way through the city. "Somebody once gave me a second chance. Figured you deserved one too." He looked at her, but she didn't reply. "You're not someone else's puppet. Take it from someone who knows," He continued. This time, she gave a slight nod. She made him stop outside the motel where she picked up her backpack. He gave her a questioning look, but didn't say anything. She soon found herself in the same field that she had been dropped off a few hours before. He led her aboard a private jet, and she saw the terrified look on the pilot's face. Maria shot Barton a look, and then ducked into the cockpit. The Black Widow sat back in her seat, and a terrified medic approached her. She waved him off, feeling the effects of the serum working their way through her. She settled back in the chair and watched the ground melt way. Soon after the lights far below vanished and all she could see then was the endless night sky. She fell asleep into a doze to the calming roar of the engines somewhere over the seemingly endless Atlantic Ocean.

Will there be another chapter? Do you want another chapter? R&R and receive a free, invisible Captain America!


	2. Chapter 2

Ladies and Gents, Chapter 2!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

The sun was setting when the jet began its descent. From the window Natalia watched the New York City lights flicker into view. They were hypnotizing, those lights; reflecting off the sides of buildings and illuminating the sunset-streaked sky. All too soon, the jet breezily landed on a short landing strip. From what she could see, they were at a training base just north of the city. The moment she stepped off the plane, seven heavily armed guards appeared out of the shadows. They immediately formed a circle around her, cutting her off from everybody else. The largest of the bunch stepped forward and pulled out handcuffs. She looked at him with amusement. He tightened them around her wrists and she let a soft sigh of exasperation escape her lips. He scowled at her and returned to his spot in the circle. The group moved forward, making sure that she was completely surrounded at all times. Maria once shot her a half-sympathetic glance, but she was soon blocked by a guard to Natalia's right. As they entered the base, people stopped their work and watched as they passed. She was led down one hallway, up some stairs, and down another hallway. A man with thinning hair met them outside a door with a name plate that read: **Director Nicholas Fury **.

The man in front of them seemed slightly annoyed, and waved the guards away. Barton, Hill, Fury wants to talk to you first." They looked at each other and seemed to brace themselves for death. The door clicked shut, leaving the agent and Romanova alone in the dimly-lit hallway. She looked at him, tilting her head ever so slightly with curiosity. _How important was this man that he could send away seven heavily armed agents with a flick of his wrist? _"Miss…," he began, intending for her to finish the sentence, but she only continued looking at him "Miss Widow," he began again. "I'm agent Coulson, there are some things we need to work out before you see Director Fury". "What 'things' are you talking about?" She replied. "Well, let's start with your association with the Red Rooms in Russia." "I am not eager to go running back to them with information. They attempted to kill me. As far as they know, I died and took the two agents sent to kill me down with me." She spoke slowly and delicately, choosing each word carefully and ending with a small sneer. "There is also the matter of your name," He said, looking at her with interest. "I do not remember the name my mother gave me. When I joined the Black Widow Program I was given the name Natalia Romanova. Usually they would refer to me as the Black Widow though. I have used several aliases; the one that I usually use here is Natasha Romanoff, I'd prefer to go by that" She turned her head quickly towards the door, and moments later the door snapped open. Maria appeared first, a bizarre look crossing her face. She shook her head and smiled, then nodded to Coulson. "Knock on the second door, Fury doesn't like people barging into his office," She advised before stalking off in the opposite direction. Shortly after, Barton came through the door, looking somewhat exhausted, like he just had someone chew him out for ten minutes straight. _Which, _she guessed, _is what actually happened. _"I'll wait here while you talk to Fury, then I'll show you what room you're in?" She shrugged, unsure if his invitation was genuine or if he was just following orders, but before she could decide, Coulson handed her a piece of paper and pushed her through the first door. She was now standing in a small and brightly lit passageway. She raised her cuffed hands and awkwardly knocked on the second door. There was a brief "Come in", and she entered. The first thing she noticed was the floor-to-ceiling window opposite of the door, and the man standing with his back to her in front of it. "Put the cuffs on the desk," the man rumbled. She pulled them off, having already picked the lock when she was talking out in the hallway. She dropped them unceremoniously on the desk. Fury now made his way over to his desk and gestured for her to sit in one of the uncomfortable looking chairs on the opposite side of the desk. She dropped into the chair closest to her, and handed over the piece of paper. He looked at it for a brief amount of time before putting it into a drawer in his desk and looked at her. The one-eyed glare that would have unnerved many had no effect on her. "Tell me, Agent Romanoff, why?" "I have red in my ledger. This is my chance to wipe it out." Fury looked satisfied with this answer, and continued his questioning. When he seemed content with the information he had gotten, he handed her a thick file, a badge, and a note telling her where the weapons department was, her room number, and her handler. "Handler? What do they do?" She asked, bewildered. "Pick what missions you go on, make sure you're not dead, something along that line. I'm making be partner's with Barton out there, I'll apologize in advance. It'll move you up in ranks though, and Coulson is a damn good handler. Any other questions?" "Yeah, do you happen to have a gym that you're not using?" Fury raised an eyebrow, but jotted a note on the side of the paper.

Her room was next to Barton's on one of the top floors; her one bag propped up against the door. The room was comfortably large and it had a nice view looking over the city, it was better than what she had at the Red Rooms anyway. Barton handed her a room key and said, "I have to go and write up a mission report, you better go and see the weapons expert, wanna meet in the café downstairs and we can talk about agent-y stuff?" "Agent-y stuff?" She repeated, raising an eyebrow. He cracked a grin and headed off in the opposite direction. She left the contents of her bag sprawled out on the bed and made her way down to the bottom of the building. She eventually reached a door with large, red block letters telling her that is was the Weapons Development and Testing Lab, and directly below that a hazmat sign. She waved her key card in front of the scanner, and the door clicked open. The lab was large, but the room was filled with smoke, and there was a lingering scent of charred flesh. A portly man waddled up to her. "Agent Romanoff," he puffed "Heard you're going to be joining us, good, good! Well, we didn't get much advanced notice, but I had my team do some improvements on your Red Room equipment and whip up some new prototypes for you!" He spoke excitedly, and moved about quickly to a work table. "Here, here, here! Try these!" He thrust a pair of guns into her hands. "Go on! Try 'em out!" She aimed at a distant target and fired. She reached for the leather holster that lay in a tangled pile on the work bench. She stuck the guns in pulled them both out, and fired again, and returned them to the holster. "Good, what else do you have for me?" "Well, this one I'm particularly proud of, a set of bracelets that deliver electro-static energy blasts that can deliver charges up to 30,000 volts, I call it the Widow's Bite. It also has hidden grappling hooks, tear gas pellets, and an instant knock-out gas, go on, put 'em on, put 'em on! Like 'em?" The bracelets wrapped comfortably around her wrists, which produced a wide grin from the man in front of her. "Now here we have a utility belt, it weighs no more than a few ounces, but oh boy! It can pack a hearty punch Miss Romanoff! Four pounds of TNT, other small explosives, emergency medical supplies, knives, any other tool you could possibly want can fit in this!" He gleefully handed her a silver belt. "And lastly, we have developed a uniform just for you! It's made of super strength Kevlar, it will keep you warm in cold weather, cool in hot weather, it's flexible, annnnndddd, are you ready for this? It has hundreds of tiny suction cups on the hands and feet! You can stick to walls just like a real spider!" He clapped his hands and gazed lovingly at it. "Only the best for top agents! Oh my! I almost forgot to add my special touch!" He raced to the other side of the room, and came racing back, panting heavily. He attached something to the front of the belt, and held it up for Natasha to see. A small hour-glass shaped now was positioned in the very middle. Visit soon!" He called as her pushed her out the door. She went back to her room, dressed in her uniform, finding it oddly comfortable. She picked up the file on the bed, and in her jet-lagged state, drifted to the café. She found a quiet spot in the corner and looked over the various odds and ends that were in the file while sipping on coffee. She was starting to wonder if Barton had forgotten, when someone sat down in front of her. She looked up, and found that she was face-to-face with the Agent who had hand-cuffed her earlier. "This place must be going down the drain if they have to resort to hand-me-down Russian trash like you," he sneered. He brushed her coffee off the table with a flick of his hand and laughed. _Oh hell no. _


	3. Chapter 3

The moment you've all been waiting for: Chapter Three!

Thanks for reading ^.^

The room became unearthly quiet. The only sound that could be heard was the steady drip of coffee falling on the floor. Red-hot rage flowed into her blood and she glared threateningly at the agent in front of her. _Who did this, this, Anderson, think was? _Her eyes flicked between the dripping coffee and Anderson. The silence ended when Hill threw open the door and stormed in, looking almost as furious as Natasha. "Anderson! What the HELL were you thinking? Fury warned you about this! Someone get Coulson down here, now!" The few remaining agents who _had _been enjoying their break now looked nervously towards the one exit, debating whether or not to flee the scene. Maria and Anderson began argue loudly, getting more and more heated by the second. Maybe she was still in shock; maybe exhaustion was setting in, whatever the cause, what happened next took her completely by surprise. She came out of her daze just in time to watch as Anderson's fingers curled into a fist and collide with her jaw. As the familiar copper taste filled her mouth she ran her fingers over the corner of her mouth; and let out a dark laugh at the sight of crimson gracing her finger tips. Hill wrenched him backwards, snarling vague threats as she pulled him away from Natasha. He gave an animalistic growl and struggled free of her iron grasp. Hill muttered through gritted teeth "Where's Coulson? Anderson get a hold of yourself!" Anderson replied to this by attempting to flip the table, in an effort to pin his target against the wall. But perhaps being slugged in the jaw by a meaty fist brought her completely back to reality, because when the table crashed against her, she aimed one powerful kick at the base of it and sent it flying into other agent. He slumped against the far wall, surrounded by broken plastic in a semi-conscious state. Hill marched over to his body, debated quickly between bringing both of the agents in to get chewed out by Fury, before going with an "Oh, fuck it" and gruffly pulling Anderson up by his collar and dragged him out of the room. Natasha calmly watched this little performance, then picked herself up, got herself a frou-frou frozen coffee, pressed it against her throbbing jaw and retrieved her papers. She had just sat down again when Barton burst through the entrance, expecting people to be screaming in panic. He instead saw a serene-looking Romanoff and a shattered table. He gave a non-committal shrug to the agents cowering in the far corner and pulled up a chair next to his partner. "You okay?" He asked cautiously. "Our co-workers are crazy." She replied bluntly before turning the files once again. _

It was late when she finally returned to her room. She picked through the little belongings she had; mostly consisting of clothes. She laid in bed, tossing and turning restlessly. It was around one when she gave up on ever falling asleep. She dragged herself from the bed and slipped into her uniform. She crept along the deserted hallways, and soon she stood outside a solid metal door. Through the small Plexiglas window she made out the indistinct forms of what she figured was a gym. She waved her temporary ID in front of the scanner and the door reluctantly swung open. Dust and the scent of mold hit her like a tidal wave the moment she stepped into the room. In a dust-induced coughing fit, she struggled to find the light switch. After several intense seconds of awkward groping along the wall, her fingers managed to find the lights. The lights flicked on one by one, revealing an old, but not broken, gym. The outdated equipment was stacked against a wall, leaving a single faded punching bag dangling in the center of the room. She attacked it much like wild dogs attack prey, and the minutes began to slip away. She became so fixated on her work that she didn't notice the figure that slipped in. As her heart beat in time with her punches, her pulse raced, and sweat dripped from her temples. With one final strike of rage, the bag snapped from its hook and was sent soaring across the room. She crouched in exhaustion and examined her bloody knuckles. She took a roll of medical guaze from her belt and expertly wrapped it around her fingers. She headed towards the door and jumped when she saw Barton leaning against the door jam. "What…what are you doing here?" She sputtered. "Fury said this is where you might be. Anyway, it's almost five and I figured you might want an actual meal this time." She considered this for a moment before replying with a "Real food sounds nice, though I'm not sure I forgive you for sneaking up on me…It's a joke Barton, don't look so depressed" She laughed as his face fell. She sauntered out of the gym, Barton close behind.

The cafeteria was mostly empty at five am, the only occupants being half-asleep agents returning from missions. She settled for a bottle of water and a stack of pancakes. "So I have some bad news…" Barton began and Natasha groaned taking another bite of her pancakes. "We're stuck with training new recruits for the next week and half." She slumped down in her chair with a dejected sigh, "We _have _too?" She moaned. He nodded sadly. "When do we start?" Clint looked at the clock on the wall, "In twenty minutes" he grimaced.

As it turned out, the new recruits weren't _completely _incompetent; they managed to scrape by, and only fifteen of them dropped out by the final exam, only cutting the class in half. "Barton, behind you!" Natasha screeched as a green paintball came whizzing over their heads. "Got 'em!" A red paint splotch appeared on the chest of the recruit in front of them. He cursed violently and threw his hands up in the air and stalked out of the arena. A large red X appeared next to his name on the screen above the exit. "Five left!" Romanoff called out and took cover behind a stack of boxes in the corner. "Do you know where they are?" He wheezed. "Three above, right. One near the entrance, and the last one is on the move." He nodded towards the expanse of exposed ceiling above them "We need to get up there." She shot him a look. "Oh, yeah that'll be easy. It's not like its twenty feet up or anything" she replied sarcastically. "C'mon, I'll just climb up the boxes while you cover me, get up into the ceiling, then you'll haul ass and I'll pull you up" he countered. "That is the worst fucking idea I've ever heard Barton. Let's do it." She peered around the pyramid of cardboard as Barton made his way up the side. She watched as the shadowed figure at the entrance raised their gun and aimed. The side of their helmet was stained red before they even had a chance to fire. "Lexton! You could have done better than that!" Romanoff called as the red X of destiny appeared next to crestfallen agent's name. "Nat, move it!" she heard Barton whisper. She gripped the edge of the nearest box and felt the entire structure shudder. She began her ascent up towards the ceiling, nimbly leaping from box to box. She sprang into the air, the tower crumbling beneath her. She grasped Barton's hand as he heaved her onto the vent where he was hunkered down. "I'll take down the three over on that ledge over there, and you can stay here and see if you can find the loner." She directed, slightly out of breath. He nodded in agreement and swung her to the next set of pipes. She slowly crept along them, her arched back brushing lightly against the ceiling. She settled comfortably where two vents met, and watched her three victims. They sat with their backs to the wall, facing in three differ directions, completely oblivious to the threat above them. She picked them off, one by one, and they tumbled in a heap on top of the boxes she had tipped over earlier. She made her way back to the spot where she had last seen Barton, only to find it abandoned. She heard a noise directly below her, and in the weak light she saw Barton skulking along the wall. She picked her way down, swinging from pipe to pipe, and then finally dropping behind him. He whirled around and almost let out a yell before she clapped her hand over his mouth. He dropped to the floor, dragging her with him. He pointed to a dark figure that darted to the other side of the room. She made her way quickly along the wall, signaling to Barton to go the other way. She cautiously approached the figure, preparing to fire, when the figure turned suddenly and tackled her around her middle. She fell to the floor, all air escaping from her lungs. She rolled out of the way of a second strike and managed to get back on her feet. Her heart raced. Adrenaline pumped. This is what she had been looking for. A challenge. She ducked, and her small frame was flattened against the floor when the recruit body-slammed her. A knee now pressed down threateningly on her gullet, and her paint gun was wrenched from her fingers. Spots began to fill her vision. She flipped herself from under her assailant, leapt up, and wrapped her fingers around their throat. She artistically twisted the paint gun from their fingers, and fired. The lights came up, and the entry doors slid open. The fifteen battered and multi-colored recruits lined up looking considerably defeated. "As you all know, only the top five recruits will be able to train as agents, the rest of you doomed to either drop out forever, or re-take this course. We determined," Natasha glanced at Clint who had appeared breathlessly behind her. "We determined the ranks based on overall performance, previous records, and will now factor in this final exam. So, even if you did fail miserably this time, doesn't exactly mean you don't have a chance. All decisions are final, so don't come bitching to me when the results are out. They will be posted on this door in exactly two hours. Feel free to shoot each other with these while you wait" she gestured to the rack of paint guns behind her. She strode out of the room, talking animatedly with Barton. She unlocked the unused office that sat across from the arena. She pulled a stack of files from a desk drawer. "Here we go." She said with mock enthusiasm. She had been tortured on several occasions, but nothing compared to the two grueling hours she spent pouring over those fifteen _despicable _files. But it eventually ended, the list was made, approved by Coulson, and at exactly 2 pm, it was posted on the gym door. They barely had time to leap away when the crowd of trainees rushed to the door. There were the initial screeches of disbelief and anger, which soon subsided into sulky murmurs. "Will Agents Romanoff and Barton please report to Agent Coulson's office immediately." The high-pitched intercom intern squeaked. They strode down the main hall, arriving at Coulson's office just as he was leaving. "I was thinking you'd never make it, go on in." He sat behind his desk, rifled through some papers, and produced to thick files. "It's your first mission." He looked Natasha in the eye. "To take down the vice chairman of the Red Rooms, Feliks Aristov." Instead of looking horrified, she looked strangely gleeful. "Coulson, it would be my pleasure to bring that son of a bitch down; when do we leave?" with a semi-smile, Coulson replied, "A few days, just enough time for you to get ready and read through the file." She smiled cruelly. "Perfect." 

Thanks so much for reading! R&R's will forever be my favorites!


	4. Chapter 4

So here we are again, a new chapter!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, yada, yada, yada.

Immediately after Coulson dismissed them Barton began pouring over the information. He wandered to an empty lounge where he continued to feverishly read over the file. Natasha however tossed the dossier aside and stretched out on a couch. Barton gave her a questioning look, but didn't say anything. "I shouldn't have to read…_that_" She replied, looking at the file with disgust. "I worked for that monster for as long as I can remember. The innocent bloodshed, the slaughtering, I was there for most of it." She spoke vehemently, scowling at the ceiling. "I guess this isn't very helpful then?" Barton held up the folder. Romanoff laughed bitterly. "It doesn't even cover half of what he did." "So then what's the most important thing I need to know about him?" "Just know that if you get caught, you're dead. Even _I _couldn't save you." She rose rapidly and stalked off. "Nat, Nat where are you going?" called Barton before he gave up and turned back to his reading muttering to himself.

She spent her last night before her mission like she always had; a scalding shower and a shot of Russian vodka. Steam filled the bathroom as she stood underneath the stream of scorching water. She tried not to focus on what was to come, that she would leave for the plane ride. She turned off the tap and stepped out, immediately feeling the change in air temperature. She shivered into her sweats, and left the foggy comfort of the bathroom for her bedroom. She pulled open the bottom drawer of her nightstand and fumbled about for a moment before retrieving a half-empty bottle and a shot glass. The Black Widow serum had left her unable to get intoxicated, but she stilled liked the relaxed, tingly feeling she got, even if she couldn't enjoy the full effects of the alcohol. She tossed back the drink and set both the glass and the bottle back into the drawer. She laid back on her bed and glared at the case file that Clint had dropped off earlier. She had flipped through it earlier, had seen the haunting images of bodies piled up in heaps and set on fire, children abandoned in condemned buildings. She flicked off the lights and proceeded to spend the next few hours tossing and turning in her bed. She was startled awake to the infuriating sound of her alarm going off. She stretched and dragged herself out of bed, shrugged into her catsuit, and snatched her bag from beside the door, and left. The halls were eerily calm and silent, the only noise being the occasional _thump _from the A/C. She arrived at Landing Strip A at 4:00 am on the dot, the same time that an exhausted-looking Barton ambled into view. He nodded sleepily at her, and slumped against the exterior of the plane. A chipper pilot soon showed up, greeting them much too energetically for so early. He waved them on, "You want anything? Water? We just have to wait for my co-pilot to show up and then we can get up in the air." He tossed them each a bottle of water and then retreated to the cockpit. Eventually a senior pilot breathlessly climbed aboard gave them a wave before he joined the pilot. Clint leaned back in his chair and almost instantly fell asleep. She envied the way he could fall asleep so easily, and spent the rest of the trip contemplating the perfectly horrible way to kill her target.

She was half awake when the pilot alerted them that they were above Russian airspace. She leapt up from her seat and made her way to the front of the plane. "Agent Romanoff, would you like to take it from here? You know where to go, I assume?" She didn't answer, but pushed past the pilot. From what she could tell, they were somewhere above the wilderness outside the suburbs of Moscow. "Tell Barton we're two minutes from the drop zone. After we're gone, fly half a mile north. You'll be three miles away from the Rooms. Ready?" The co-pilot nodded. Barton was standing by the already open hatch holding out a parachute pack for her. She pulled it on as the pilot announced that they were over the drop zone. "You want to go first? 'Cuz you know where we are and everything…" He rambled on. "Shut up and jump Barton." She snapped. He gave a small groan, saluted her, and jumped out into the night. She did a last check of her equipment and fell back out of the plane. She freefell, watching Barton below her to see when he pulled his chute; moments later she saw the dull black parachute open, catching the light of the moon. She rolled to a standstill and shed her deployed chute. "Barton," she hissed, and he appeared from the shadows. "Head up that way, it's a straight line for about a mile. You'll be able to follow the brick wall all the way to a cliff, which you'll have to get up, and set up at the direct center of the cliff. From there you'll have the perfect spot to pick off all and any of the guards that are in my way. You'll also have a clear shot right into Aristov's office. Go." They both took off at the same time. She trekked through woods for some time, the memories flooding back. When she arrived at the front gate, the familiar spotlight blinded her with its glare. She pulled out her old ID photo and swept it under the scanner. She waltzed up the front stairs and stepped into the dark foyer where the tired receptionist sputtered at the sight of her. "Did you really think that those two leftover KGB agents could stop me?" She snarled in Russian. The girl behind the desk squeaked, and took her leave by tearing out of the lobby and into the night. "I'm in." She spoke quietly into her com. "Have fun." Barton replied. She grinned and ran her fingers over the cool metal of her guns and stalked off into a darkly lit hallway. "Trust me. I will."

As she crept along a winding passage, she came across a familiar door. It was dark ebony and emblazoned with a red hour glass and a blue rose. She leaned against the door, and it cracked open. Everything was as she had left it; dusty books lined up like soldiers on their shelf, deadly poisons and perfumes stacked on top of each other on the dresser. She looked at the bed on the other side of the room with a seething hatred and quickly exited the room. She recalled every detail, every step that it took to get to Aristov's office. _Stop. Security cam 1, wait five seconds, then go right. Stop, roll, security cam 2, wait ten seconds. _She came to an unusually bright hallway, and cautiously crept her way towards the elevator at the end. A security guard fell at her feet, a silver arrow sticking out of his throat. She kicked him into a shadowing corner and continued on her way. The elevator was empty when she entered. She balanced on the hand rail and pushed up through the ceiling. She heard the quiet _ding_ from below. She jumped from her precarious perch and clutched at an air duct above her. She slinked along the small crawl space between floors, her arched back just brushing the floor above. She stopped above a ceiling tile outlined with light. She slammed her heel through it causing excessive amounts of plaster and dust to fill the room below her. She dropped to floor and wheeled about, coming face-to-face with the coughing Feliks Aristov. "Romanova? What are you doing here?" He demanded. "I'm here to kill you." "What? No fancy speech? You really thought you could waltz in here and kill me? You're denser than I thought." She launched herself at his throat, pinning him against the wall. He threw her off and seized his gun from atop his desk. A bullet slammed into the floor next to her. "Romanoff, what's going on in there, I heard gun shots?" Barton's voice crackled in her ear. A second bullet clipped her shoulder. "I'm fine, can't talk." She replied. She sprung up, sailing straight into Arisov's chest. As he gasped for air, she pulled her guns. He approached her slowly. With a flurry of movement he had her pinned to the wall, his elbow pressing down on her windpipe. "I…trained…you! And this…is…how you repay me?" He growled. She struggled against the wall in vain. "I want to see the light leave your eyes Romanova!" She couldn't breathe, and her thrashes became weaker and weaker. Aristov laughed manically. She attempted to pry his fingers off her neck, but to no avail. He held her up off the ground, his fingers now closing in around her trachea. In one last futile attempt to get out of this alive, she pressed a random button on her utility belt. A small knife flipped outwards. She drove it into Aristov's side. His grip loosened enough for her to wriggle free. She dug her nails into is throat. "It shall be I that sees the light leave your eyes, Aristov." She pressed her Widow's Bite to his neck, triggering 30,000 volts of electric-static energy to race through his nerves, delivering off-the-charts pain directly to his brain. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he fell to the ground. Her heart racing, she checked his pulse. She pulled away. "He's dead. I'll be there soon." She calmly into her com. She put four bullets into his chest. She smashed the window open and climbed down, leaping from window ledge to window ledge. She sprinted to the cliff and picked her way up, exhaustion setting in. Blood flowed profusely from the gash on her shoulder. When she reached the top, Barton hauled her up onto the grass. "We have to move. Someone probably has discovered his body by now." She spoke quietly. They were almost to the plane when Natasha stopped dead in her tracks. A small group of people had appeared from the woods.

"Grigori Razin." She whispered, her eyes wide in shock. "Surprised Miss Romanova?" replied a portly middle-aged man. "More like disgusted." "Well I have someone you would be less disgusted to see." He thrust forward a girl that looked more like a Russian model than a spy, but the gun strapped to her thigh was of the same make that Natasha had carried gave her away. Romanoff looked like someone had just punched her in the stomach. "Oh yes, she's been _very _helpful, she responded well to the "therapy" we gave her." He cackled. "… 'Talia? You… remember…right…? You…promised…." Rasped the girl. An ashen look came over her face. "Aph…I…I didn't think it would ever happen." replied Romanoff. "Nat? What the hell is going on?" "Please 'Talia….help…" persisted the girl. A determined look came over Natasha's face. She raised one of her guns, aimed expertly at the girls head, and fired. A look of relief came over the girl's face, and she fell in a heap. Grigori looked amused. "I didn't think you would actually kill her." "Go back to your hell-hole Razin. I don't have time to kill you, one day, perhaps." Razin tipped his hat, and strode quickly back into the woods, his pair of guards right on his heels. They found the plane waiting for them, and when they were in the air, Barton broke the silence. "Natasha, what the hell was that? You can't go around just shooting people in the head like that for no reason!" He exclaimed. She remained silent and stared out the window. "Are you even going to tell me?" She glared at him, pain burning in her eyes.

"She was my friend."

DUN DUN DUUUUUUN. Our little Natasha once had a friend? Whaaaat? Be awesome and R&R!


	5. Chapter 5

Ahhhh, crappy coffee, crappy late night television, and being an awkward social penguin; the only reasons why I am able to stay up until three in the morning writing, or at least until I fall asleep on my keyboard. So my apologies if this chapter seems as if it were written by an author on crack.

Before Barton could react, the plane rapidly changed altitude throwing Natasha plowing into the ground. "What the hell was that?" She muttered, grimacing as she pulled herself upright. "What's going on up there?" She called, trying to staunch the fresh flow of the blood from her shoulder. When she didn't receive an answer, she awkwardly attempted to stumble her way to the front of the plane. "Nat, you're going to kill yourself doing that." Barton dragged her back. "Did you even see who was flying this damn plane?" She demanded as a thought crossed her mind. "No, I was too busy _freaking the fuck out _over the innocent civilian you just killed!" "Can't we focus on the fact that we're on a fucking hijacked plane?" She snapped back at him. The plane banked to the left, sending both of them crashing against the window. They gingerly peeled themselves off the window. "You have to get up there." She mumbled, looking dazed. "Then what am I supposed to do? I can't fly a fucking plane!" "We don't have any other options Barton." The moment he stood up, the plane banked again. He lurched forward, the plane now tossing wildly from side to side. He broke into the cockpit, to two mystery pilots conversing to each other in what he thought was Russian. There was a brief scuffle, a loud crunch, and then silence. "Where do you want me to put them?" Called Barton uneasily. "Throw them in the bathroom for all I fucking care, just try to fly the fucking plane." She answered. The plane wobbled in the air for a moment, then resumed its nose dive. There was only one thing left for her to do. She dug her fingers into the bullet hole and found that the slug had neatly landed between the muscles of her shoulder. She gripped the end, and as deftly as she could, plucked it out. Fresh blood gushed out of the wound, soaking through the gauze she had immediately pressed over the gash. She staggered out of her seat as the tops of the trees became visible. She stumbled up the aisle and pushed herself the last few feet into the front. Barton was furiously pressing buttons; which would have funny if they weren't about to die. She flicked a few switches and pulled back on the yoke. The bright warning lights disappeared one by one, and they gradually pulled away from the trees. A blinking light caught her attention, and she only had seconds the give a warning cry and yank Barton backwards. He instinctively covered his head before an ear-splitting blast ripped apart the plane.

The rain began just as Natasha gained consciousness. Her head soon became soaked, though her uniform kept the rest of her warm and dry. She leaned back on the tree that had broken her fall, gazing at the severed branches above her. Most of the bruises and scratches she had gotten were already healed, and her bullet wound had stopped bleeding. From what she could tell, the only thing wrong was a large gash on her head. The wreckage wasn't bad; most of the body was intact anyway. But the front had been ripped apart, shredded into tiny pieces of shrapnel. Her eyes swept over rubble, searching for any sign of Clint. She sifted through piles of debris, eventually finding her bag. The outside material was shredded, though the contents remained unharmed. She pulled out her back up com and resumed her search for her partner. She wandered about aimlessly, eventually establishing that the plane was deep in the forest, far away from any type of civilization. Throughout the day the rain picked up, sending continual shivers down her spine. It was late afternoon by the time she found herself back at the crash site. Her gut told her that Barton couldn't have landed too far from her, considering they had been next to each other when the plane exploded. A small groan confirmed her suspicions. The sky became pitch-black as menacing clouds rolled in, and she knew she had a short time before she wouldn't be able to see anything. After a brief search of the ground, her eyes wandered to the tree branches above. There, pinned between branches up near the top, lay a very battered-looking Barton. "You just had to be all the way up _there _didn't you Barton." She griped. He moaned again in response. She began the long climb up, her progress impeded by the slipperiness of the bark. Thunder rumbled in the distance when she finally reached Clint, and she realized with a sinking feeling that she would have to drag him back down the tree in the pouring rain. She kicked off the large branch that had him trapped in between branches. It fell to the earth splintering in all directions. "Come on, work with me here Barton." She tossed him over her shoulder, and carefully picked her way down. "How in the hell did you manage that Romanoff?" Muttered Barton, disoriented. "The Black Widow serum does not fuck around. Do you think we'll be safe in the plane?" "It's better than sitting at the freezing ground getting soaked." She thought for a moment, and then proceeded in hauling Clint into the plane shell. She left him slumped in a battered chair and went to search for her bag again. She returned shortly, where Barton greeted her with, "Food?" She rolled her eyes and tossed him a bottle of water and a protein bar. "How many of those do you have left?" He asked between bites. "Enough to last us a few days. Either we'll be captured by then or S.H.I.E.L.D. will have found us. Either way, we're stuck here for a while." She walked the length of the cabin, searching the few intact overhead bins for blankets. She found a stack and returned to her seat. "So when did you send out the emergency signal?" He asked as he pulled a blanket around his shoulders. "A few hours ago." "So what are we gonna do?" "Want to learn how to fly a plane?" She replied, tossing him one of the yokes she had recovered earlier. He groaned. "Can it wait until morning?" She nodded obligingly. " "Night Nat." He curled up, and once again Natasha resented the way he could just fall asleep. She remained awake, watching the lightning flash in the sky above her.

By late morning the rain showed no signs of stopping, and Barton was growing restless. After several failed attempts at trying to teach him how to fly, Natasha gave up and retreated to her chair. He squirmed in his chair, trying to find a comfortable position. "For God's sake Barton _sit still._" She said with clenched teeth. He shifted once more before sighing in satisfaction. "So are you going tell about what happened?" He looked at her expectantly. She took a long sip from her water bottle and gazed thoughtfully at the rain. "I guess I owe you that much." "So are you going to tell me or what Romaoff?" Barton persisted after a few moments. "I'm just trying to figure out where to start." "At the beginning?" He suggested, raising an eyebrow. "No shit, Sherlock. You want to hear the story or not?" He leaned back in his chair and gestured for her to continue.

"I was eight when I was brought to the Red Rooms with thirty other girls. We were all potential Black Widow Serum recipients. The interest in the serum peaked when they found out about the Super Soldier Serum Howard Stark developed. They focused on the idea of having a female spy with super human abilities, much more…unexpected. It was night when we were herded like sheep into a small room. The man who had collected us told us what was about to happen, that we were going to be subjected to a series of tests, and eliminations would be made based on our performance. The last one still there would receive the honor of being the first tester. They didn't tell us that by "eliminate" meant "kill". The lights in the room clicked off, five shots were fired, and the lights went back on. Next to me was a small girl with ghostly white skin and shiny black hair, covered in her own ruby-red blood. Four more girls, all thin and small, lay scattered about the room. You don't forget something like that, seeing someone die, it sticks with you. The next three years were brutal, until finally someone produced a serum close to that of what Stark had developed. It was down to four of us by then. Our last challenge was to kill each other off. It ended up being me and Sofya, the girl that had been my roommate for the last three years. They stopped us then, saying that they had a different plan. Instead of killing her, they developed a small program, the Aphrodite, where a pretty face would distract the target while the agents handled everything else. I proceeded to further training and going on real missions before I was given the serum. Sofya, however, the one person who had kept me from going insane in the Rooms, hated what she had become a part of. She was always talking about defecting, which is what I think is part of the reason why she ended up with Grigori Razin. He specializes in neurology and…" She gave a visible shudder, and looked Barton in the eye, a haunted look cast over her face. "That man is pure evil, Clint. Brain modification. That's what he does. Before any of us even started training, we were sent to him. It's a quick and painless surgery, but they never tell you about all the important memories you lose. I have no idea what my real name is, though the bastard let me keep…" She trailed off, glaring out at the rain. She continued on, though she looked slightly sickened. "So they dismissed project Aphrodite, and sent Sofya to Razin. That's where they send all the screw-ups; Razin then gets to do whatever mental experiments he wants on them, and in return the Rooms get to be rid of uncooperative agents. The night before she was sent to Razin she made me promise that if things went…bad…that if she had given up…I had to be the one to kill her, put her out of her misery, stop her before she became the ruthless killing monster that they had always wanted her to be. I agreed because I never imagined that I would actually ever have to. The last time I saw her she was trying to claw her way out of the armored car that was taking her to Razin's lab. After that, I left for Spain; and you know the rest." Clint remained silent before rubbing his forehead and bluntly replying with, "You should be a lot more fucked up Romanoff." She let out a short laugh and settled back into her seat. "So what about your parents? Didn't they try to stop them from recruiting you?" Natasha's face darkened. "My father volunteered me, and there was little my mother could do about it." "I thought your parents died in a fire and you saved by Ivan Petrovitch?" "That's what they want you to think." Was all she said, and Barton didn't try to get any more information out of her. The whine of a jet engine interrupted the silence. Natasha ventured out into the rain, and after a moment poked her head back in. "It's S.H.I.E.L.D." She slung her bag over her shoulder, grasped onto the rope that dangled from the plane above her. She winced slightly as her shoulder shifted, but quickly recovered as they were pulled up at a steady rate. Coulson hauled her to her feet, and Barton collapsed in the nearest chair. She took the blanket Coulson had offered her and curled up in a chair, and for once she fell asleep the second she closed her eyes.

YAY SLEEP! Which is what I could _realllly _use right about now…R&R's will receive a llama with laser-beam eyes and an Iron Man suit! Hey, you, yes you! The nervous person who wants to give this a review but you're too afraid? Do it. Because I love you. ^.^ and any review is a review and is _reallllly _motivational to me. Enough rambling from me, so I hope you enjoyed it, and if you didn't…well then this is awkward O_O


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